


a whisker away from the wilds

by sarcasm_and_sabres



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 18:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasm_and_sabres/pseuds/sarcasm_and_sabres
Summary: There's a cat sitting on Sam's bed.They don't own a cat.Which means... "Jack!" Sam hollers, climbing out of bed to go yell at Jack. It's too damn early for this.





	a whisker away from the wilds

**Author's Note:**

> If you found this by searching yourself, please don't read it. This is fictional and intended solely for personal entertainment.
> 
> Shoutout to Tracey for forcing me to turn this into a giant pile of fluff. Rest assured that it'll never happen again.
> 
> Title from Jean Burden, Celebration Of Cats, and shoutout to Bonnie for helping with that.

Waking up to a cat sitting on his face is not exactly how Sam had expected his morning to start.

He wakes up to something heavy on his face, and so naturally his first reaction is to flail and swat at whatever it is, which results in a loud thump, an angry yowl, and Sam sitting up in bed spitting out cat hair and staring at the small creature glaring from his floor.

“Jack!” he hollers, getting out of bed and starting to stomp over to Jack’s room. “When the fuck did you get a cat? And what the fuck!”

Of course, because the universe is just conspiring against him, Jack’s not in his room when Sam slams the door open. When he pivots to go check the kitchen, the damn cat is following him, still looking annoyed.

“It’s not my fault,” Sam mutters to it, then shakes his head. He’s not talking to a cat. He needs to go yell at Jack for getting a cat without telling him, especially since Sam’s no doubt going to be doing the brunt of cat care while Jack’s injured. And speaking of, Sam also needs to yell at Jack for getting up and taking the stairs without him, because he just knows that Jack’s going to end up going down the stairs headfirst one of these days.

There’s no sign of Jack in the kitchen, though, nor in the living room. And there’s no response when Sam yells Jack’s name repeatedly. Sam’s not concerned, though. Not at all. He’s just annoyed about the cat.

The cat, which is still following Sam around through every single room of the house as he looks for Jack. He’d be more irritated at it if it weren’t for the cat’s frankly adorable blue eyes. A complete search of the downstairs and basement reveals no Jack, so Sam heads back for the stairs, but stops when the cat lets out a loud meow just before he starts up.

“What?” Sam demands, turning around to face the cat. “Look, if you know where Jack is, go get him. I don’t particularly feel like traipsing all around the house looking for him either.”

The cat yowls again, but Sam’s just about done with today already. He hollers for Jack again, sticking his head into the bathroom and guest room to see if there’s any sign of him there. His room is equally empty of any people when Sam doubles back to check again, but this time he does notice Jack’s boot and crutches still sitting next to his bed. And Jack’s phone and wallet are on his bedside table. Fuck.

“Jack!” Sam shouts, nearly tripping over the cat as he heads downstairs at a run. Jack couldn’t have gotten much of anywhere without his crutches, but maybe he’d just decided to forego the boot and hopped downstairs to get his scooter. Maybe. Hopefully. 

But the scooter is still parked in the front hallway, and Jack’s coat is hanging neatly on the hook where he’d left it the day before.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Sam chants as he goes back to his bedroom for his phone. “Where the fuck are you, Jack?”

Caber. Maybe Caber came over and brought Jack home with him. Or maybe Caber at least fucking knows where Jack is. Because somebody has to know. Somebody has to.

 _“The fuck, Sam?”_ Caber asks, yawning midway through his question. _“I’m asleep, what are you doing?”_

“Is Jack with you?”

_“Is Jack—what? Why the fuck would Jack be with me?”_

“Because Jack’s not here and I don’t know where the fuck he is!” Sam snaps.

_“Maybe he went for a walk? Or, I don’t fucking know, to run errands? Calm down, Reino, it’s too early for this.”_

“Oh yeah, I’m sure he went for a walk with a sprained ankle and without his boot, crutches, or scooter,” Sam says sarcastically. “Thanks, you’ve been helpful.”

 _“Hold on, what?”_ Caber asks, sounding awake for the first time, and Sam resists the urge to hang up on him. _“What do you mean?”_

“All his shit’s still in his room, Caber. And his phone and wallet. I don’t know where he is, he’s not anywhere in the house, I checked everywhere.”

_“Fuck, okay, I’ll be there in a few. Try texting the group chat, see if anybody’s heard from him this morning. And maybe check again, maybe he fell asleep somewhere weird. I’m sure he’s fine.”_

“Yeah? How do you figure that? You think he just walked out of here on his own without any of his stuff? He’s probably-“

 _“Sam, stop,”_ Caber says firmly. “You were home, I’m sure nothing happened. It’s not like someone could’ve come into your house and kidnapped Jack without you hearing.”

“But-“

_“Nope. He’s fine, okay? And I’m on my way over.”_

Sam mumbles a thank you and goodbye instead of the snarky comment he actually wants to make. At least Caber’s trying to help.

He shoots out a text to the team, asking if anybody had gotten a message from Jack that morning. Then he goes back to Jack’s room yet again, this time walking across the room to check the space between Jack’s bed and the wall. He’s not there, of course, and when Sam turns to check the closet the cat is sitting right in front of it, staring up at him expectantly.

“What do you want?” Sam asks, smacking the wall next to him. The cat doesn’t jump like he’d expected it to, just continues staring at him. “Fuck, I don’t know where you came from and I somehow managed to lose my injured best friend, so now’s really not the time! Can you just—just sit somewhere and leave me alone until I find Jack?”

The cat pads silently over to Sam, gently butting him in the shin with his head. Maybe it’s the cat’s attempt at comfort, Sam doesn’t know. It does make him crack a faint smile, at least. 

“Where’d you come from, bud?” Sam asks, bending down to scratch the orange patch on top of the cat’s head. The cat meows loudly and moves its head to stare pointedly in the direction of Jack’s bed. “Yeah, I bet you could tell me where Jack got to, eh?”

He straightens up, brushing off cat hair onto his sweatpants. The cat walks in front of him towards the door, and Sam notices for the first time the cat’s awkward gait. It’s not putting any weight on its front left paw, instead hobbling awkwardly on its other three legs.

“Hang on there, bud,” Sam says, and the cat actually stops, turning around to face Sam. “Are you hurt?”

The cat literally rolls its eyes at Sam, looking down at his front left leg and back up with a meow. There’s no mistaking the attitude, but cats can’t understand people. It’s obviously just a coincidence.

“How’d you hurt yourself?” Sam asks, kneeling down to examine the cat. He reaches for the cat’s leg, but it yanks it back, meowing loudly in protest. “Fine, then, don’t let me see what’s wrong with you. Is that why Jack brought you home? Because you’re broken just like he is?”

The cat meows incessantly, staring up at Sam like he can somehow understand the meaning in its impossibly blue eyes. Blue eyes… But no. That’s impossible.

“Jack?” Sam whispers. The cat meows once, nodding vigorously. Sam shakes his head, reaching out a hand to the cat. The cat—Jack?—nudges against his fingers, purring slightly. “You’re a cat? How?”

The cat gives him a look, conveying the best look of exasperation Sam’s ever seen from a cat. 

“Okay, right, sorry. How about this—meow once for yes and twice for no, eh?”

The cat meows once and Sam can’t help his smile.

“So you’re actually Jack, right?” Sam asks, and receives a single meow in response. “Do you know why you’re a cat?” Two meows that time. “Your ankle’s still hurt, even as a cat?” One meow, along with a snarky look.

Sam gets to his feet, checking the timer attached to Jack’s bottle of pills on the bedside table. It hasn’t been opened in ten hours, which means that the painkillers must’ve worn off awhile ago.

“I’m sorry, Jack, I don’t want to kill you by giving you human painkillers. Look, Caber’s coming over. We’ll get you turned back into you as soon as we can, okay?” Jack meows once, sounding almost sad, and Sam scoops him up in his arms, careful of the injured leg.

Jack wiggles a little, but doesn’t protest, instead settling down into Sam’s arms. The doorbell rings just as Sam gets to the kitchen, so he heads straight to the door with Jack still cradled in his arms.

“Any sign of Ja—why do you have a cat?” Caber asks, frowning at the feline. 

“Well, the good news is I found Jack. The bad news is this is Jack,” Sam says, nodding at the cat, who very helpfully meows at that moment. And really, he needs to stop thinking of it—him as just the cat, instead of Jack. In his defense, at least, having your best friend turn into a cat isn’t exactly the most normal of situations.

Caber stares at him for a long moment, then at Jack, then back at Sam. “Did you hit your head?”

“What? No.” Jack meows twice, and Sam bends down to set him on the ground. 

“Samson, people don’t just turn into cats. How about you just sit down for a moment and I’ll go look for Jack?”

“No, I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true, I promise. Look at him, Caber. He’s got Jack’s eyes and his left leg’s hurt, just like Jack. And he understands us.” Caber still looks like he’s about to call a doctor for Sam, so Sam turns back to Jack. “Jack, meow three times and go headbutt Caber in his left leg, please?”

Sam watches Caber’s face as Jack meows once, twice, three times, while walking over to him and solidly slamming his skull into Caber’s shin, before he looks up at Sam.

“No, no, that’s not possible,” Caber says, fumbling for one of the kitchen chairs and sitting down hard. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” Jack adds his input by meowing loudly, and Caber stares at him. 

“How did he get turned into a cat?” Caber asks weakly. 

“I don’t know, and he says he doesn’t either. We just need to get him back now.”

“I dunno, do we?” Caber asks with a grin. “He’s kinda cute as a cat.”

“He’s also injured and in pain and he can’t take his painkillers while he weighs ten fucking pounds,” Sam shoots back. 

“Right.” Caber looks abashed, but Jack distracts from that by meowing loudly and hopping over to the base of the stairs. He meows again and looks up the stairs, then over at Sam. 

“You want me to carry you upstairs?” Sam asks. Jack meows once, so Sam scoops him up and heads up the stairs, Caber trailing afterwards. He heads for Jack’s room, but Jack swats at his arm until Sam turns to face his own bedroom. 

Jack leaps out of Sam’s arms to land on the bed, then pads across it to stare at Sam’s laptop on the bedside table. Not entirely sure what Jack is going for, Sam opens the laptop and sets it down next to Jack, who sprawls sideways next to the keyboard. He jabs a paw at the Word icon until Sam opens a new document, then he awkwardly maneuvers himself so he can hit the keys with his good paw. 

c-a-l-l h-a-n-n-y, Jack types, then looks up at Sam and Caber expectantly.

“Hanny?” Caber asks, brow furrowed.

“Noah?” Sam directs his question at Jack, who meows once. “I don’t have his number, though, Jack.”

Jack gives him a look that can only be described as derision and lifts a paw to tap at his ear. Sam shakes his head, confused. It would be really nice if Jack had retained his ability to speak even while a cat. 

“I think he means that he has Hanny’s number,” Caber suggests, to which Jack meows in agreement. 

“Oh.” Sam can feel his cheeks flushing slightly, so instead he covers up his embarrassment by ducking out into Jack’s room to scoop up his cell phone. It’s locked, but Jack had given him his passcode when he’d been hopped up on strong painkillers, so Sam’s already dialing Hanny by the time he gets back to his room, effectively saving him from being chirped by Caber. 

_“Hey, man, how ya doing?”_ Hanny asks, sounding more awake than Sam would expect of him at this hour of the morning. 

“Um, actually, this isn’t Jack,” Sam says awkwardly, perching on his bed next to Jack, who pads over to sit down on Sam’s lap.

_“Sam, right? Is Jack okay?”_

“Uh, he’s kinda…a cat?”

There’s a long moment of silence from Hanny. _“Can Jack hear me?”_

“One sec.” Sam fumbles with the phone to put it on speaker, setting it on the bed next to Jack “Yeah, now he can.”

 _“Jack, you’re a fucking dumbass.”_ Jack meows loudly in response, and Hanny practically cackles down the line. _“Don’t give me that, you know it’s true. Only you would manage this. How’d you end up a cat?”_

Jack meows several times, prompting Hanny to hum in what sounds like concentration. Which makes no sense, because Jack’s meowing is not exactly comprehensible. 

_“Okay, that’s fair, I suppose.”_ Hanifin’s quiet for a moment, but Caber jumps in before Sam can get his question out.

“Why are you talking like you can understand him?” 

Hanifin laughs, and it’s joined by a strange sound that Sam realizes is the cat huffing like he’s laughing too.

_“It’s a hedge witch thing. I can understand him, and he’s being rude, which is not smart if he wants to get me to turn him back into a person.”_

Jack says something that Sam is pretty sure isn’t complimentary, but he’s more fixated on Hanifin’s words.

“You mean you can fix this? You can undo whatever turned Jack into a cat?”

_“I mean, no. I can’t do it personally, but I know some people who can. I’ll make a few calls and get back to you, okay?”_

Sam’s response is interrupted by Jack’s incessant meowing, and he can’t understand cats the way Hanifin apparently can, but Jack certainly doesn’t sound happy.

_“Nah, dude, it’ll be fine. I’ll try to find someone who can get out there today and tomorrow, okay? And if not, call Larks, he might be able to do something. Just… I dunno, what do cats do to relax? Find a patch of sun and take a nap.”_

Jack huffs once and visibly rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t say anything else, so Sam jumps in.

“Thanks, Hanifin. We really appreciate it.”

_“Yeah, no problem. I’ll call you back when I have something, in the meantime try not to let Eichs kill himself.”_

Even without hedge witch magic, Sam knows that Jack’s meow is definitely in protest this time. Hanny laughs as he hangs up, leaving Sam alone with a cat who’s actually his best friend and a very amused teammate.

“So, want me to go out and buy some cat food for you?” Caber asks, snickering at himself like it’s the funniest joke anybody’s ever made.

Jack doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response, instead very primly lifting his head and jumping down onto the floor, tail held high as he stalks out of the room. Still snickering, Caber shakes his head and looks back at Sam.

“It seems like you have things under control now, you mind if I head out?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks for coming over.” Caber claps Sam on the shoulder and heads downstairs. Normally he’d walk his guest out, but he’s more concerned as to where his essentially three-legged best friend got to.

“Ja-ack!” Sam calls out, not expecting a meow to sound from right beneath his feet. He looks down to see bright blue eyes staring at him and shakes his head. “Jeez, be careful, do you want me to trip over you?”

There’s a protesting meow, and then Jack looks at the stairs and back up at Sam, which Sam is going to assume means he wants to be picked up.

“You know,” Sam muses as he heads downstairs, “maybe we should get a cat once you get turned back to normal. You’re awfully cute when you have four legs.”

In response, Jack just leaps down from his arms, landing on the kitchen table with a thud. He turns to stare back at Sam for a long moment, then lifts his injured paw to point at the fridge. 

“You hungry?” Sam asks, heading over to the fridge before he gets Jack’s meow of agreement. As he rummages through looking for something a cat could eat, he realizes he’d never gotten himself breakfast in his panic over not being able to find Jack. “How about I make me some eggs and you can have some deli meat? Wait, can you eat eggs? Or deli meat?”

There’s no response from Jack, and when Sam turns around to look at him, Jack’s giving him the most unimpressed look he’s ever seen from a cat.

“Oh,” Sam says, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Yeah, that’d be kinda hard for you to know. Sorry. You know, you communicate pretty well considering you can’t talk.”

Jack’s meow sounds louder than Sam expected, and Sam glances down to find Jack hopped up on the counter next to him. He reaches out with his free hand to scratch Jack behind the ears, which makes Jack freeze and start purring. Sam smiles instinctively at him, stroking his back a few times before rinsing his hands and scooping up his phone to check what cats can eat.

“Oh good, you can have deli meat, and some eggs too,” Sam tells Jack, scratching his ears again and opening the deli turkey, tearing off little pieces for Jack to eat.

Jack appeased for the time being, Sam heads for the stove, starting his own breakfast while Jack eats and watches him. He’s just setting his plate on the table and going back to carry a whining Jack over when his phone rings.

Both Jack and Sam dive for the phone, Jack missing abysmally and nearly falling off the edge of the table while Sam actually answers the call.

“Fuck, Jack, you okay?” Sam asks, reaching out to steady Jack and getting an angry, but thankfully singular, meow in response.

 _“Hey, I thought I told you not to break him!”_ Hanifin says loudly. Jack makes a quiet grumbling noise, and Hanifin responds with a snort of amusement.

“Any luck?” Sam asks, content that Jack’s fine despite his spasticity. 

_“Yeah, actually. And you’re really lucky, because you’re playing the Bruins tomorrow and Patrice Bergeron just so happens to have the ability to change Jack back. And since he’s way too nice for you, he’s flying out early today so he should be able to get to you tonight.”_

Jack lets out the strangest sound Sam’s ever heard, a strangled cross of a meow and a yell, and swats at the air triumphantly. 

_“Yeah, yeah.”_ Hanifin sounds amused by his old friend. _“So just hang tight for a few hours, and he’ll be there in a bit. And seriously, if you don’t look out for Jack while he’s a fucking cat, I will come to Buffalo and hex you.”_

“Uh.” Sam looks over at Jack, wishing his best friend could talk to him right now. Hanifin wouldn’t actually do that, would he? Sam’s not entirely sure, so he settles on a safe “I was planning on looking out for him anyways.”

 _“Good. ‘Cause I’ll be in Buffalo to play you next month, and I’m fine with kicking ass on more than one front.”_ Hanifin sounds way too serious for Sam’s liking, but before he can try to reassure him that Jack will be fine, Jack interrupts with several loud meows. _“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Eichs. Don’t be a dumbass. Well, more of one.”_

Jack meows again, this time clearly annoyed. Sam reaches out to scratch behind his ears in an attempt to calm him, and is rewarded with Jack’s soft rumbling purr.

“I really appreciate you doing this,” Sam says, hoping to steer the conversation back to something constructive. 

_“Amusing as it may be, nobody wants Jack to stay a cat. Except for maybe whoever turned him into a cat, but whatever. And Jack, you’d better fucking call me as soon as you have hands and the ability to speak again or I’ll kick your ass too. Hanny out.”_ He hangs up the phone with that, and Sam doesn’t have to be a hedge witch to know that Jack’s grumble is something along the lines of calling Hanifin a fucking dork.

Jack seems happier now that there’s an actual plan to get him turned back, stretching out on the table next to Sam’s plate and stealing bits of egg from it. He tries to subtly pull out his phone to take a picture, but Jack’s eyesight evidently has not worsened, and there’s a clawed paw resting on Sam’s hand as soon as he gets his phone pointed at Jack.

“Please?” Sam asks, sticking his lower lip out. Jack might mock his pouting face incessantly, but he also always caves.

Sure enough, Jack hisses but removes his paw, settling back onto the table and eyeing Sam’s plate again.

Sam snaps a picture of him and lets Jack see his phone, getting a meow in what he’s going to assume is approval before he sets his phone back down to finish his food.

Jack’s even less helpful with the dishes than he usually is, except instead of just not doing them he’s using his uninjured front paw to splash Sam with soapy water while he attempts to clean up from breakfast and dinner the night before. It doesn’t exactly make it easy to do the dishes, but Sam’ll cut Jack some slack while he’s trapped as a tiny animal. Doesn’t mean he can’t give Jack grief about it for ages after he turns back into a human.

“You need anything?” Sam asks Jack, who meows back a negative. “Well, since you’re not exactly up for video games right now, wanna watch a movie?”

Jack seems to like the idea, so Sam grabs the turkey and fills up a bowl of water in case Jack gets hungry. As he does that, Jack rubs against his legs impatiently, meowing insistently at him.

Sam sets the water and food down on the coffee table, and goes to help Jack up onto the couch. A quick nip at his hand makes Sam jerk back in surprise, but Jack just hops up on his own and shoves his head into Sam’s hand.

“Have a preference for anything?” Sam asks as he pulls up Netflix. “Meow if you want me to stop on anything.”

Predictably, Jack meows when he gets to Miracle. Sam would normally argue with him on the choice but he supposes that Jack has had a rough time of it lately.

“Fine,” he relents, starting the movie and getting comfy on the couch. Jack immediately climbs into Sam’s lap, stretching out and batting at Sam’s hand until he starts to pet Jack. He immediately starts to purr, and Sam can’t hold back his smile. He wouldn’t mind getting used to this. Not with Jack as a cat, of course, but if they were to get a pet cat after this. Spending an afternoon watching a movie with Jack and a cat curled up on his lap? Honestly sounds like the best way he could spend an off day.

As Jack purrs away, Sam has to admit that Miracle’s not actually a terrible movie. He doesn’t feel for the American pride part of it, but there’s a universality in the tale of the underdog coming up from nowhere. And hockey. So maybe he secretly enjoys it, but he’ll never admit it to Jack.

\---

Once the movie’s over, Sam makes to get up. He’s starting to get hungry again, and unlike Jack, he hadn’t spent the movie snacking. Jack doesn’t seem to like that, however. He refuses to move from Sam’s lap, hissing at him until Sam stops moving.

“Jack, I need lunch,” Sam protests. Jack looks up at him and nudges at Sam’s hand until he starts petting him again. “You’re even more needy as a cat than you are as a human.”

Jack hisses at him again, but it doesn’t seem to have much heat behind it. Sam just rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone to scroll through Twitter. There are about a million messages from the team group chat, and Sam winces when he remembers that he never texted them back.

Most of them are saying that they hadn’t heard from Jack, but after a long lull in the conversation there’s a flood of messages asking after Jack. Caber, naturally, couldn’t be helpful for once and send the all clear, so Sam just tells the group that it was a false alarm and that Jack’s fine. After he’s sorted through the texts, Jack finally seems willing to let him up.

Sam takes advantage of Jack moving off his lap to beeline for the kitchen. He does need to get groceries, but he’s not going to leave now, so he decides to just heat up some frozen pizza. Having your best friend turned into a cat counts as a traumatic enough event to make it an unscheduled cheat day, right?

Jack sits next to his plate as he eats again, but thankfully doesn’t try to steal any of the pizza, just continues nibbling at his turkey slices.

He heads back to the living room when Sam’s done eating, and Sam figures it’s in both their best interests for him to follow. Jack seems adamant that they go back to cuddling on the couch, and Sam finds that he doesn’t particularly mind either. HGTV marathons are their MO on most lazy days, so Sam turns that on and waits for Jack to get comfy before scratching behind his ears as a couple talks about their dream pool.

\---

They’re only two episodes in when Sam hears the doorbell ring. Jack scrambles off the couch, hurtling towards the door, while Sam shuts off the TV and follows much more slowly. How is it that a cat with three functional legs is so much faster than him?

Unsurprisingly, it’s Patrice Bergeron standing outside. He smiles at Sam and nods down at the cat demanding attention next to him.

“Hi, Sam,” he says, “and I’m assuming that’s Jack?”

“It is,” Sam confirms, stepping back to let Bergeron in. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“I just hope I can help,” Bergeron says, taking off his coat. Sam takes it and hangs it up for him, and then gestures for them to all go into the kitchen.

“So, how does this work? Do you need anything?” Sam asks, pulling out a chair for Bergeron and sitting next to him. Jack leaps up and sits in front of Sam.

“First I just need to see what this is,” Bergeron says, then addresses Jack. “Mind if I do a quick magical scan of you? You shouldn’t feel anything.”

Jack glances up at Sam, then moves a little closer to Bergeron. The Bruins star reaches out and puts a finger on Jack’s head. Nothing visibly changes, but Sam feels almost a ripple in the air around them. 

Bergeron laughs and removes his hand. “Oh, this should be easy to undo. It’s a pretty basic curse, probably something someone found on the internet.”

“So you can fix it? Do you know who did it?” Sam asks eagerly, leaning forwards and petting Jack. 

“I can fix it,” Bergeron confirms. “And no, I don’t know exactly who did it. But they did sign it with a Leafs logo, so I’m going to go out on a limb and say that’s their reason.”

“I don’t care, as long as it can be undone,” Sam says firmly. “How do you go about doing that?”

“I need a larger space, but that’s about it. It’s truly a weak spell.”

“The living room should work,” Sam says, scooping Jack up before the cat can protest. It’s his last chance to carry around Jack as a cat, so he’s going to take advantage of it.

“Set him down behind the couch,” Bergeron instructs, “and step back. I don’t want you to get caught up in the magic and turned into something or have a bad reaction to it.”

Sam kisses Jack on the head before he can convince himself it’s a bad idea and sets him down, retreating a few feet. 

“This won’t hurt him, right?” Sam asks nervously. 

Bergeron smiles patiently. “It won’t. And you don’t have to worry about me messing this up, I’ve done it a number of times. You’d be surprised how often people turn Brad into something. Frequently a rat.”

Sam forces out a laugh, smiling weakly. He hadn’t considered the possibility that something would go wrong until Bergeron had said something, and now he kind of wants to scoop up Jack and go back to cuddling and watching TV.

But Bergeron’s already lifting his hand, smooth syllables spilling out of his mouth as the air around him and Jack starts to glow. Sam has the sudden urge to sneeze, and then there’s a pop, and a bright light, and when Sam’s eyes adjust there’s something distinctly larger than a cat standing where his teammate had been.

“Jack!” Sam ignores Bergeron’s warning and throws himself at Jack, hugging him as tightly as he can. Jack clings onto him in return, and Sam’s so relieved to have his best friend here, really here, that it takes him a long moment to realize that Jack’s shaking.

Alarmed, Sam tries to disengage from the hug, to figure out what’s wrong now, but Jack won’t let go of him.

“Ankle,” Jack grits out, and that’s when Sam realizes that he’s crying.

“Let’s get you sitting, eh?” Sam says, wrapping an arm around Jack to get him to the couch. Jack goes without protest, using the hand that isn’t holding onto Sam to scrub at his face. And for all that Jack wears his heart on his sleeve, Sam knows that he hates crying in front of people, especially a stranger.

“Can you go grab Jack’s painkillers and some ice?” Sam asks Bergeron, sitting next to Jack on the couch and helping him prop his bad leg up on the coffee table. “Ice is just in the freezer, painkillers are on the bedside table in the first bedroom upstairs.”

“Got it,” Bergeron says, and as soon as he’s turned around Sam pulls Jack in for another hug, letting him bury his face in Sam’s shirt as he cries.

“What is it? Just your ankle?” Sam asks, rubbing up and down Jack’s back.

“No, no, I mean yes, but—fuck,” Jack says. “I’m okay, I just—I’m glad to not be a cat anymore. I didn’t wanna—you know.”

And fuck, Sam hadn’t thought about that. He’d been worried about Jack, of course, but he hadn’t had to deal with the stress of worrying about being stuck as a cat forever.

“You’re okay now,” Sam says, wishing he could somehow hold Jack closer. “You’re okay, it’s okay.”

“I couldn’t—” Jack hiccups, reaches out to clutch Sam’s free hand. “I couldn’t fucking talk to you. And I couldn’t fucking tell you that it was me. And you were so worried and—fuck.”

“Sorry,” Sam mutters into Jack’s hair, feeling guilty for contributing to Jack’s distress. “I was just worried about you. But you’re back now, and you’re okay, and it’s okay. We’re okay.”

“Yeah.” Jack takes a deep, shuddering breath and sits up, squeezing Sam’s hand once before letting it go. “Thanks for looking after me, Sammy.”

“Hey, you know I’ve always got your back.” Jack’s smile at that is wobbly but genuine, and Sam feels a rush of warmth at seeing it again. Fuck, it’s good to have Jack back. 

“I brought this, too,” Bergeron says, coming back into the room and holding out ice, painkillers, and Jack’s boot.

Bergeron’s return is way too fast for Sam’s liking, but he relents when he sees the pain still written on Jack’s face. He passes Jack the water bottle sitting on the coffee table, noticing after Jack has downed nearly half of it that it’s actually Sam’s. 

“Boot, or ice?” he asks Jack, taking both from Bergeron and grabbing another pillow from the couch to get Jack’s ankle up higher. 

“Ice,” is Jack’s quick response, so Sam tucks the boot under the table and grabs the hand towel he’s been keeping out for this very purpose, carefully wrapping Jack’s ankle.

“Thank you,” Sam says to Bergeron, who shrugs a shoulder awkwardly. “Can I get you anything? Water, food?”

“I think I’m going to just head out actually, but thank you,” Bergeron says. Loath as Sam is to leave Jack right now, it would be rude to not walk Bergeron out after his help, so Sam gives Jack a quick pat on the thigh to signal that he’ll be back momentarily and gets up.

“Thank you so much, really,” Sam says as he hands Bergeron his coat. “I can’t tell you how much Jack and I appreciate your help.”

“Happy to be able to,” Bergeron says with a quick smile. “Keep an eye on him now, huh?”

“Will do,” Sam agrees easily. He’s not going to be letting Jack out of his sight any more than necessary, at least until the Sabres have to get back on the road next week.

“I’m sure you will,” Bergeron says, lips quirking up into a knowing smile. “Bye, Sam.”

Sam shuts the door after him, shaking his head in confusion. But whatever, Bergeron’s quirks aren’t important. He got Jack back, which means that now it’s Sam’s job to make sure Jack’s alright and stays that way.

When he gets back into the living room, Jack looks like he’s settled comfortably into the couch, sprawled out with his eyes closed. Sam would assume he’s sleeping except for how much pain Jack’s visibly still in.

“Hey.” Jack opens his eyes when Sam walks in, smiling slightly at him.

“How’re you doing?”

Jack lifts one shoulder in a careless shrug, smile slipping away. “Been better. Ice is helping, though.”

“Sorry,” Sam says sympathetically, hating the pain that Jack’s in. He should’ve tried to do something to prevent this earlier. Forced Jack to keep his leg elevated even while a cat, maybe.

“Not your fault,” Jack says quickly. “Before you sit down, though, could you grab my phone? I wanna call Hanny before I get too loopy and he thinks that you or Bergeron murdered me.”

“Yeah, of course.” Sam makes a quick retreat to the kitchen for Jack’s phone, handing it over before heading upstairs to get Jack’s crutches and give him a little bit of privacy to call his friend. He waits upstairs until he can no longer hear Jack’s voice, then jogs down the stairs to rejoin Jack.

“Oh, thanks,” Jack says, looking up from his phone and smiling at Sam.

“How’s Hanifin?” Sam plunks down on the couch next to Jack, who immediately shifts over to lean against him. On autopilot, Sam starts playing with Jack’s hair. Jack had admitted—while on strong painkillers, of course—that he loved it when Sam played with his hair, and it’s become nearly a habit since Jack first got injured.

“He’s never gonna let me live this down,” Jack huffs out a laugh, but he doesn’t sound truly annoyed. “He says thank you, by the way.”

“I didn’t do it for him,” Sam says.

“I know.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, Sam just glad to have his best friend back. Jack doesn’t seem particularly inclined to leave the coach, and for his part, Sam would be happy staying here with Jack for the rest of the day. Possibly longer.

Sounding half asleep, and not shifting at all from where he’s leaning against Sam, Jack murmurs, “I love you.”

Sam freezes with his fingers still in Jack’s hair, heart suddenly pounding like he’s just finished a double shift. Jack just means it in a teammate way, obviously. He’s just thanking Sam for looking out for him. Or maybe Sam misheard him. It’s probably that.

“What?” he asks, forcing himself to breathe and to continue to massage Jack’s head.

“You heard me, Sam,” Jack says, sadness coloring his tone.

“You love me, as in-“

Jack shoves himself away from Sam, laughing bitterly. “Fuck, Sam, as in a gay way. I just thought—whatever. I’m just gonna—“

He fumbles to get the ice and towel off his ankle, and it’s only then that Sam notices how his hands are shaking. And he knows, somehow, that if he lets Jack go now that something between them is going to break irreparably.

“Wait, Jack, wait,” he says, reaching out to still his hands. “If you want space, I’ll go, but first, just—can I kiss you?”

It’s not what Sam had been intending to say. At all. But when the words stand there, hanging heavy between him and Jack, he realizes that he really does want to kiss Jack.

Jack, who’s staring at him like Sam just got turned into a cat. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jack so visibly taken aback.

“I don’t want—pity,” Jack says after a moment. “You don’t have to—“

“I don’t have to do anything, but I want to kiss you,” Sam interrupts.

Jack stares at him for another beat, then swallows visibly. “I—yeah.”

Sam pulls Jack in close to him again, cupping his cheek as Jack leans in to close the last of the distance between them.

Jack’s lips are chapped, and there’s enough stubble on his face to feel rough against Sam’s skin, but it’s somehow the best kiss he’s ever had.

Jack pulls back far too soon, resisting Sam’s attempt to follow him. He’s smiling, but it’s faint, tenuous. 

“Hey, Jack?” Sam says, reaching down to grab one of Jack’s hands. “I think I love you too.”

“You mean it?” Jack asks. Sam answers by leaning in to kiss him again, and when he pulls away Jack’s smile is as bright as Sam’s ever seen it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you enjoyed this!


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